


Killshot

by Unquiet_Grave



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Breeding, Derogatory Language, Doggy Style, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hunters & Hunting, Oneshot, Outdoor Sex, Slowburner, Smut, Stalking, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unquiet_Grave/pseuds/Unquiet_Grave
Summary: Jess hissed a sigh, throwing her head back against the rock. Her neck was smooth, illuminated by warm orange light. Tufts of her thick, long hair trailed down her shoulders, pieces of grass stuck here and there.Jacob, sitting back in his spot by the fire, plucked a piece of grass and twisted it between his fingers. A lost, thoughtful look on his face. Jess frowned.“I want to know why you're out here,” she insisted. “Why'd you come all this way, just to get me? Why not send a huntin party?”“You mean other than the fact you tried to kill me?” he laughed coarsely. His next answer surprised and unsettled her.“Because I want you."





	Killshot

  **1\. Encounter**

She had him in her sights.

Jess Black watched the outline of the man through the crosshairs of the scope. She slowed her breath as the gravity hit her. It had taken everything she had to get to the spot where she was now crouched—the roof to St. Francis Veterans Center. She'd come there, alone, with only the dark Montana sky and the eye of the waxing moon to witness the night's events.

The crimson dot of her bow's sight settled directly over the man's heart. Sometimes, she wondered if her prey could feel the heat of the hunter's crosshairs on them, like a sixth sense. She'd seen it the most in deer: they seemed to twitch a little extra, or lift their heads and flare their dewy nostrils for no reason, despite her masking her scent and taking care to move quieter than a big cat stalking through the trees.

They sensed they were being hunted. They just didn't know it yet. But then her arrow would find them, and their little worlds, such as they were, ended swiftly and mercifully.

Jacob Seed walked across the grounds to his compound, passing by the rows of cages, emptied of the sad excuses for humanity that had once occupied them. Lately, the only interesting catches he'd had were the Deputy, whom the Whitetails stole from him, and Pratt, whom he'd enjoyed breaking, and who was now cowering by his side like an obedient beta.

 _I can't blame the guy,_ Jess thought, without much sympathy. _If that were me, though, I'd rather eat a bullet than serve the Seeds._

They weren't alone. He was flanked by a handful of his hunters, and, always, by two massive, ferocious white wolves with docked tails and red paint on their muzzles: his personal guard. Jess didn't know the names of the two Judges, but he seemed to share a deep bond with them. She'd seen him talk to them before, during her reconnaissance, watched through her binoculars as he'd turned his scarred head to utter a command or call to them. He had even stroked their imposing bodies a few times, showing more care and tenderness than he probably showed most humans.

_Don't make him an animal lover, though. Don't know what to make of him, really._

The direwolves were a product of his strenuous conditioning. Precious to him. Jess scowled under her hood. To her, they were a mockery of all she held sacred about nature. He had taken creatures, born to run free and wild in the forest, and transformed them into something Other, something slavish and civilized and depraved. Hungry, trained to seek human flesh, living on his word alone.

 _Only ran into them once, and that was enough,_ she thought. _Reason I'm still breathin's 'cause I know how to not act like prey. Those things...they're monsters._

The cult couldn't leave anything alone, not even the fucking birds and beasts. With a hunter's patience, the wheels of her bow turned slowly as she drew the string taut, the mechanics of the weapon doing some of the work. All her attention was focused on her breath, her aim. Her abs clenched tight. The muscles of her lean arms bunched. She waited for her target to stop walking and be still.

Then she would take her shot.

Jacob's boots crunched the gravel as he walked. Despite his built frame and the heavy-duty army boots, he had a quiet step. His blue eyes flicked to the wall, and he said something to one of his men, some inane comment meant to show he was calm. The young woman was on the roof, listening, probably lining up her shot this very second.

 _Have to admire her persistence,_ he mused. _A shame she's fighting for the wrong side. Hate to see wasted potential._

He'd known about her the moment he stepped out into the yard. One of his Judges alerted him with a low growl, having picked up her scent, which he guessed she tried to mask with deer urine or some such foolery. The thing she didn't know, was that he kept personal articles of all the Resistance, and had trained each and every one of his Judges in the array of their scents. He had one of her old plaid shirts stored in a container in a locked vault, deep inside the building.

“Sir?” one his guards spoke up. He asked Jacob a question about the next batch of recruits.

“One's closer than you think,” he told him, in a low voice.

The hunter understood immediately, muttering something to his companions, keeping his body language lax. Jacob made sure to keep animated. He had no doubt the woman could hit a moving target, but she would want to make sure he was dead, and that meant waiting for the right time.

He would give it to her, and then she would wish she'd never set foot in his territory. He'd marked it with men strewn up and disembowled on spikes, with animal skulls and white, painted messages, but she insisted on defying him and running around his woods like a heathen.

From her spot on the roof, Jess gnashed her teeth. Her arm stung. Her locked elbow begged for release. As it often did during times of duress, her grandmother's harsh voice, just a mite deeper and scratchier than her granddaughter's, surfaced in her memory: _Whatsa matter, girl? You afraid of the big, bad wolf? Have you forgotten ever'thin I taught you?_

Jacob stopped, examining one of the cages. His back was turned to her. Now was her chance. She hesitated, and the red dot floated from his heart, to the back of his shaved skull.

 _You ain't got the guts,_ her Granny's voice scolded. _Chickenshit. You could kill the man who tortured you n' your parents, fed you n' your siblins pieces'a their toes, no problem. This man TRAINED him. The Cook was his FAVORITE. So what's stoppin you?_

“Nothin,” Jess murmured. Yet she waited a little longer, failing to notice the guards re-positioning themselves as she lowered her arm, her bowstring slackening. She seethed at her own cowardice. Weeks spent researching the compound, working with the Whitetails to get intel. Innocents, people she knew from the county growing up, and Pegs alike killed in the process, all while trying to convince that useless Deputy to help her. They'd rushed off to assist Fall's End and confront John first. Fine. That was fine. Jacob was hers to kill.

So why couldn't she do it?

Grinding her molars, she raised the sight on her bow again, her fingers squeezing the tip of the arrow and string. After a beat passed, and Jacob still hadn't moved, the opportunity slipping through her fingers, she knew why. It felt like a coward's way out.

 _Turn around,_ she willed him. _Lemme see your face. Won't shoot a man in the back. I wanna see your eyes._

 _She's taking her sweet time,_ Jacob thought. He knew of her deeds too well to take her for the sort of woman to get cold feet. He would have to spring the trap himself.

He nodded to the guard on his right, raising his hand in an empty gesture toward the nearest cage. The guard didn't react, save for a slight change in his stance. Slowly, Jacob turned around, not a trace of fear on his hardened face.

The dot settled right between his eyes, which, to her, looked perpetually calm. Her heart was anything but. Jess sucked in a breath.

 _Take the shot,_ Gran's voice urged her. _NOW, kid! Don't think about it, just do it! Like I taught you. You can do it._

Jess shut her eyes, remembering what her parents' bodies looked like burning at the stake. Hard to forget. Her eyes snapped open again and she raised the bow an inch. The smell was the worst though, like grilled pork, followed by a charred, rotten stench as the flies landed on her mother's ruined, wrinkled face and...

The arrow went flying across the yard, a brutal shot. Expecting it, Jacob stepped back, and the projectile sank inches from his inner left thigh, into the soil. He looked up with cool indifference, a weathered veteran, he wasn't afraid of some headstrong little girl playing Indian-in-the-brush. But the rumors he'd heard about her meticulous aim were correct. That shot would have lobotomized him clean through.

Smirking, he scratched his beard lazily.

“Fire.”

His hunter drew and answered the arrow with his own. It sailed for the roof, the shadows up there obscuring Jacob's view. At first, nothing happened. Then, another arrow whistled down in wicked response, embedding itself in the throat of the man on his right. He went down with a hollow choking sound, struggling for air that would never come again.

More of his hunters answered back, sending a volley up on the roof. He watched a shadow break free and dart across the rafters. Not fast enough. The man he'd alerted earlier, his best hunter, drew an arrow with a special green tip, and let loose.

It struck her in the leg, and she went down. Down, rolling over slowly, weakened from the bliss poison in her veins. She fell in a clatter of roof tiles, loosened by her weight. His would-be assassin landed on her deft feet and stumbled, trying to draw her bow even then, a snarl on her lips.

 _Impressive,_ Jacob mused. _To resist the poison that long. This one's a rare find._

The last thing Jess saw, before the bliss took her, was Jacob standing over her, his arms folded across his broad chest, with a look of intrigue and satisfaction that filled her with rage and fear.

Then, like a deer felled by one of her arrows, she knew nothing.

**2\. Escape**

She refused to use the guns put out for her. Every time she ran the course, she'd lay down the weapon thrust in her hands, and stare with muted anger at the camera. 

In the camera room, Jacob shook his leg in frustration, pulling on his beard. He knew the huntress had it in her: the killer instinct that separated his best warriors from common betas. She was wasting her talents with this pointless pacifism! After a few rounds in his mind-control maze, having cranked the controls to max, with the same disappointing results, he had her thrown into a cage and starved. Maybe a few missed meals would make her see reason.

 He visited her on the fourth day, carrying the arrow she'd shot at him, to find her sitting cross-legged in the corner of the cell. There was a wilt in her posture, dark circles under her eyes, but she raised her head like a snake and leered at him with the same agitation as before. Jacob smiled. He doubted anything would ever put out that fury.

“Came to see how you're doing,” he said gruffly, waving the arrow by way of greeting. His dog tags swayed a little as he marched up to the bars.

“Peachy,” she grumbled, and didn't bother moving. She was weak as hell from starvation, but they'd given her enough water and scraps to keep her alive. Now she knew how zoo animals felt. The sight of Jacob boiled her blood and got her hackles raised, though.

He noted the change in her, saying, “If you do as you're told, you'll move on from this place. Have you back in the woods, where you belong, in no time.”

“As one of your brainwashed soldiers, right?” Jess spat, mostly foam, her lips cracked.

He tapped the arrow against the bars. “That's right. And you'll be better for it. Disciplined. Sharp. Obedient.”

“No-fuckin-thank you.”

Her prisoner's clothes stuck to her skin, and she stank worse than she ever had in the wilderness. Still, Jacob enjoyed the way she glared at him. It was rare he witnessed such raw fight in a person, and he found it refreshing, drinking it up like he'd once drank from his dead partner's canteen in the desert.

He pulled up a stool and sat down, resting his arms across his legs, at eye level with her through the bars. Jess remained in the corner, but she drew her knees up to her chest.

“My man put those scars on you, didn't he?” he asked, peering at her face.

Jess tensed at the question. Her facial scars were a delicate subject, and a private source of shame for her. Men her age, who took interest from afar, got one good look at her and turned the other way. Even talking to strangers, she'd watch their eyes flit to her face, like mosquitoes to blood. Anyone not hiding behind a prison door, who brought them up to her, was likely to feel the back of her hand.

Never mind the fact that this man, too, was marked all over. The circumstances of his wounds were a mystery to her, but she remembered DAMN well how she'd gotten hers.

She turned away, face reddening. His scrutiny was unwelcome. She growled hotly, “He did. I returned him the favor, and then some.

“I won't pretend I approved of all his methods,” Jacob admitted, sitting up. He touched his own face. She doubted it was by accident. “But the Cook and I shared a philosophy about weakness. He-”

Jess lunged forward, running the small length of the cage in a few bounds, and slammed into the bars. Her hand shot out, reaching for the arrow, fingertips flirting with it before Jacob ripped it away from her grasp. She settled for spitting in his face instead. Unlike John, his brother didn't react to such pointless displays. He merely wiped his cheek, continuing,

“-he and I understood the importance, the dire need to cultivate strength, and cull weakness.”

“My parents were not WEAK!” she roared, her voice cracking a little. Her hands slid down the bars, and he noted how the tendons stood out in her right hand. “My brothers and sisters weren't WEAK!”

“Yet here you remain. And there they are.”

“Fuck you. At least they never ATE somebody,” she spat. “You gutless coward! Sick fuck!”

Jacob's eyes narrowed. He hadn't expected her to know that story, which surprised him a little. Guess she'd been talking to the Deputy. He'd question to the end of his days what Joseph saw in them.

“Am I a coward?” he asked, raising his chin. “For doing what needed to be done, to survive? My partner was weak. He was never going to make it back. I was strong. I did what I had to do. And so will you. Eventually, you'll have no choice.”

He got up, walking away, and her string of foul curses followed him. Turning to look over his shoulder at her, he brought the arrow tip to the tip of his nose once, and said,

“-and I won't have to do a thing! Your own natural instinct to survive will be the driving force. You will hunt for me, Jess Black. You're a survivor. A killer. Whether you know it or not. You ignore your basest instincts long enough, they make their presence known. They claw their way free, sooner or later.”

Jess sat back in the dirt, perturbed. Exhausted. She listened to the howling of wolves in the distance.

Jacob turned to one of his men at the compound door, instructing as if she were an animal: “Feed her. Then have her try the course again. Give her the longest exposure.”

He watched from afar as Jess accepted the raw meat they gave her, tearing into it without so much as a second guess, glaring balefully at him while she chewed, her face smeared with blood. He chuckled. When they opened the cage door, a female Peggie tried to strip her, but she bit and kicked and hissed like a wildcat, until they sprayed her down with her clothes on. Jacob smiled. She fought them tooth and nail, but they soon had her strapped her to a chair, her eyes forced open, a screen flashing the propaganda she had already endured for hours.

Jess's eyes rolled in her head. Each time her mind went back to the same scene: her parents, burning alive, barely making any noise, they'd been so weak...

Jacob watched her from a computer monitor. Watched as her body, which, he suspected, was much finer than her baggy clothes warranted, went rigid. She frothed and rocked from side to side. Hours later, they released her from the meat wagon in the underground maze, with the other recruits. She was a little leaner now, a little meaner. This time, the message sunk in. She grabbed one of the guns and went to her task, stone-faced, determined. Jacob leaned in front of the monitor, one hand scratching his beard absently. This was it. Finally, they were getting somewhere, and he could see her true potential.

The first thing she did was turn to the camera. She flashed her middle finger and shot it.

As the screen hissed to static, Jacob laughed at his own ignorance. This woman was something else. She was channeling more than her anger for her dead parents, for him, for the cult, that was for sure. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was lonely and vulnerable, using anger as a shield, the way she-wolves bristled and bared their fangs to scare off others. But, at the tiniest bit of attention from an alpha, they were all wagging tails and happy pee and quivering hips, ready to cooperate.

Then the alarms in the compound went off, flashing red, and he shut his eyes for a moment, grimacing, remembering the sounds of bombs dropping in the desert.

“She's gone off in the woods!” a guard alerted him through his radio. “Should we pursue?”

“No. Get my things ready,” he ordered, a little distracted. “And...”

“...Sir?”

“Prepare my Judges. I'm coming after her myself.”

**3\. Hunted**

In the night forest, a barefoot Jess took to the steep hills and trees, her feet navigating treacherous ground with ease. Escaping from a sewer pipe, just like that guy in the prison movie, she got a mile or more away from the compound, no longer hearing the sirens. She knew she was far from safe. The full moon cast a pallor over all, and she cursed her poor luck. Pausing in a glade, hunkered between two boulders, she looked down at herself. She'd ditched her gun during her escape, yet her clothes were spattered with blood.

_CULL THE WEAK._

The sight disturbed her. She rubbed her eyes. Surely someone else's work, and not her own. She'd never used a gun on another person in her life. Didn't plan on starting now. No way she mowed down people to get to her exit.

_YOU ARE MEAT._

She shook her head, a low hum of pain escaping her throat. Her stomach growled loudly, and she swore and ducked down. Peeking from around the boulder, she scanned the dark shapes of the trees with a watchful eye. The forest was a different world, come nightfall. She knew its paths, but not as well as the daytime.

A wolf howled suddenly, from close by. Jess took off, headed for a hunter's stash she knew of, about another half-mile from there. She ran to the scattered baying of the wolves, counting two of them—Jacob. She fled between pools of moonlight, pits of shadow. Despite everything, her heart was overjoyed to be out of that rank building that stank of metal and blood and dried paint, back in the great backyard of her home.

Jacob was chasing her, but he couldn't afford to leave his compound for long, not with an entire cult-army to manage. Or so she hoped. She replenished herself at the hunter's cache, eating huge handfuls of granola, slurping down water. Fed, hydrated, refreshed, she buried the rest and took off into the brush.

Jess had a decision to make. She could run, flee to any Resistance outpost of her choosing. But, after days of starvation, torture, and exposure, that wasn't even on the menu. If she was going to kill him, she would do it alone.

She had the terrain advantage, the will to do it. All she needed now was a bow and arrows. And she knew where to get them. She just had to make it there.

By the sewer pipe, Jacob held a piece of cut cloth to the noses of his two Judges. The wolves sniffed it eagerly, recognizing the scent from days before. Panting, their great tongues lolling between their jagged teeth, they took off in a frenzy. He followed behind, alone, with his sniper rifle in tow and a backpack full of supplies. Joseph had tried to teach him about forgetting the past, about self-forgiveness. This was one mistake he wasn't willing to let go of easily.

He wanted her, badly. Her addition to his ranks would be a mighty fine prize for Eden's Gate. And his motives went beyond that, bordering on the selfish. He admired her tenacity, her strength, her skill. She would make a valuable addition to his personal team of soldiers (maybe even a potential mate, though she was at least twenty years younger).

The way she killed, she could have easily been doing it across a lifetime. And he thought of her as attractive, in a raw, quiet sort of way. What she thought of him, well, the arrow was stowed away in his backpack.

A few hours later, as the dawn chorus tweeted, Jess climbed a deer stand, searching through crates. It had taken her all night, just to make the half-mile there, without being spotted. Opening the very last one, she smiled wickedly. Her fingers grasped the compound bow, throwing it over her shoulder. She took out a quiver of only four metal arrows, strapping it to her back. That was all right. Only needed three. Now she at least had fighting chance.

A howl wiped away her smile. She shut the container silently, grabbed a few supplies, and waited. It was dangerous to fire on them from the deer stand. There was a chance, she admitted, that she could clean herself of arrows, and Jacob would find her up there, alone, with his dead pets between them. This would require surprise, cunning, and a whole lotta patience.

She tried to cross water as often as she could, hoping they might lose her scent. After a while, she no longer heard or saw any sign of them. That was the most concerning of all. The first night she hadn't slept. The second she curled up without a fire, knowing Jacob would need to rest, too.

Rest he did, but never for long. The wolves were even more determined than he was, slavering at the jowls every time they caught her scent. The dawn of the second day, he rewarded them with dead squirrels, but kept them hungry. They made better predators that way. He ate minimally himself, drinking plenty of water from streams, keeping his body light. He let her run farther than reason dictated, often her only trail being her faint scent. Once he'd realized she was in this to kill him, he wanted to make the hunting of her as challenging as possible.

He even let himself get close enough to make a move, watching her from afar, prowling after her in the bushes. She was naked, having stripped off the prison uniform, waist-deep in the creek. Trying to mask her scent again, he thought, until he noticed the bee stings on her arms, neck, and torso. She splashed water under her arms, cursing and shivering to herself. There was an innocence about her that made him curious—had she ever been undressed before a man? She swept more creek water against her chest, her breasts larger than he'd realized, c-cups at least, the areolas like two exotic spots, nipples puckered in the cold.

 _Knew I shouldn't've tried to smoke that hornet's nest,_ Jess thought bitterly. She emerged from the water and slathered mud on the stings. _Would've made a good trap though. Fuck, that smarts!_

Jacob's loins stirred as she turned around and began daubing mud on herself. She had a narrow waist, a shapely back and shoulders, hidden under the loose garments she normally wore. He wasn't used to looking on the nude female form. Joseph had forbidden physical romance between cultists, and things like porn and erotica were punishable by torture. One was only left with the imagination, but he'd forgotten how lovely, how primal the real thing could be.

The charade was over. Jess spun around, her wet hair falling to cover her tits. He watched her rise, dripping, sleek, out of the water, her pale ass waving at him before she pulled the hateful uniform back on. He slipped into the dark cover of the trees, letting her get dressed and head back to her own camp. The sound of her were lost to the sounds of the wood.

But he knew he would catch up to her again. Eventually, Jacob's efforts always paid off.

**4\. Catch & Release**

It would do her no good to hide.

At dusk, come the third day of their chase, the Judges found her trail. Dauntless, they would be on top of her any minute. Running as fast as she could, she nocked an arrow and drew the string tight with deadly force.

She stopped and slammed her back against a tree, straining her ears, thinking she heard a twig snap. Peering from behind the thick, horned old trunk, she glimpsed one of the direwolves, its monstrous head bent before the stream she'd crossed. It hadn't seen her. HE hadn't seen her, she corrected, getting a better glimpse at the anatomy. He lapped water greedily, his eyes shut. Stepping forward, bare feet treading on soft moss, she got as close as she dared. She'd never been this close to a Judge before.

_Jesus it's bigger than I thought. What a monster._

Only, the closer she got, the more she realized he was not the ugly mutant she'd expected. Tainted as he was, he was still a part of nature. She could respect him, admire him, even. But could she kill him? She wasn't shy about butchering animals or people, when the need warranted. It seemed a crying shame, to erase such a rare, powerful creature, in the name of revenge. Suddenly, she felt foolish. Her bow arm lowered. She could only stare, spellbound, listening to the babbling of the stream, the enthused lapping of the tongue.

It was when the direwolf opened its golden eyes, interlocking with hers, then she truly felt like the fool.

 _Fuckin Christ!_ she panicked. She raised her bow. The wolf's lips curled over its sharp teeth, a low, mighty reverb through its lungs, too fierce to be a growl. She lowered it.

The direwolf's lips lowered. It regarded her with those big, sun-saucer eyes. She felt something in her heart—the part of her that adored the woods, loved it since she was a little girl—swell up and overflow. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was years of fighting Joseph and his messed up minions, witnessing people she loved vanish, one by one...but she rubbed her hot cheeks, wiping tears. This world was the beautiful one. This world deserved to live.

When her vision cleared, the other wolf arrived. And out of the thorny bushes stepped...

Jess Black sighted on instinct and let go, releasing her arrow with a hollow twang, not at the wolves, but at Jacob. He slipped behind the tree as her arrow thunked into the bark. He didn't dare come back out. He didn't need to.

A whistle from him, and the Judges snarled and gave chase. She was already running, hearing their paws splash in the stream. She turned back once, nocked, and fired. Missed. Two left. Not enough. Not enough!

She threw down her weapon, arms and legs pumping. It only served as a burden, the direwolves at her heels now. At her tossing the bow, the wolves parted, circling back to sniff at it, giving her a little more time. She heard a whistle from Jacob, and they took to her trail with gusto.

A force like a truck slammed into her from behind. Knocked the wind out of her with an almighty jolt. She cried out, falling to the leaves and mud. The wolf seized her by the shirt of her prisoner's uniform and shook her violently about. It felt like her neck was going to snap...

“Off!” Jacob commanded.

The Judges backed off, relaxed, as if nothing had happened. Jess Black lay supine on the ground, stunned, her clothing torn. But when she saw Jacob coming for her, a long rope in his hands, she rolled on her side, wriggling away like a grub.

Jacob watched her pathetic attempts to get to her feet. Few people survived a mauling from his Judges, let alone got up from one. He knelt down at her side. She was still trying to crawl away, fingers clawing at dirt and twigs.

Without a word, he seized her wrist, his hand encircling it easily. She shouted and pulled against him, striking at him. He caught her other wrist, twisting her arm, and put a knee in her spine. Forcing her belly-down into the dirt, he tied her wrists, before tying her ankles, careful not to hurt her. The last of her strength seemed to drain, but he was no fool. She was saving it for later.

Squatting on his haunches, he leaned over her. He'd won. His smile was victorious, his eyes lighting up, and it aggravated the hell out of her. There came a weird, pulsating sort of twitch between her legs, which she took to be the prison uniform riding up.

“You should have done as I asked.”

She had no reply, only rested her head back down in the mud, panting. Jacob rose, lifting her off the ground easily, the muscles in his arms standing out as he did so. His body was damp and warm against hers, muscles shifting under his shirt, as he draped her across his powerful back like a prized kill. With that, he started walking for his campsite.

The return journey wasn't as far as her pride would admit. He had never been truly far, only playing games and dropping back, making her think such.

 _A damn fine mess you're in now, girl_ , Granny's voice chided. _Let's see you git outta this snake pit. I won't have you layin there, feelin sorry for yourself._

But sorrow was all she felt. It took all her willpower not to cry tears of frustration. Her mind wouldn't take more of his propaganda machine. Jacob set her down, at a safe distance from the fire pit, and uttered a short command to his direwolves. They left to hunt, with only a rustle of leaves to announce their departure.

Night fell. Their campsite was on the bank of a wide creek. He built the fire large enough to keep the mosquitoes at bay. She watched him build it, stacking kindling and lighting it, before feeding the flames larger pieces. The campfire burned until it was as tall as Jacob, and soon she was sweating way back on the edge of the light. To her mild discomfort, he removed his own jacket and shirt, his visually-pleasing arms, back, and chest gleaming with sweat. Definitely no beer-bellied redneck, like most men she knew. He balled the clothes up and set them aside, leaving the dog tags on. She was careful not to stare too long.

Jacob noticed her sidelong glances, knowing they weren't out of fear. _Let her look._ Without a word to her, he took out some deer jerky from his pack, eating it silently, one leg outstretched before the fire, the other curled up against his flat belly and chest. Alphas always eat first. She watched his jaw clench as he chewed, his cropped hair and beard a darker shade of red in the firelight.

She thought, _Bastard's tauntin me. He could at least give me somethin to eat._

Her nostrils twitched at the scent of meat—she hadn't eaten in over a day, and was famished, although she'd never know hunger like when the Cook had starved her and her siblings. In that small insight, she knew the struggle Jacob must have felt in the desert, and she actually pitied him. Then she remembered he was responsible for the Cook in the first place, and she hated him again.

Saliva filled her mouth. She wiped it on her shoulder sleeve, part of her uniform sagging low down her chest, thanks to the wolf attack. It annoyed her, but there was nothing she could do with her hands bound. After he'd had his meal, drinking deeply from his military-issue canteen, Jacob cracked the cords in his neck and stood, shadow falling across her face as he walked to her.

He drew a serrated knife from his belt, and Jess tensed. It was time for his first test.

“I'll cut your feet. Your wrists stay bound,” he told her. “You try and run, I hunt you. I won't use as much restraint next time. Think of this as a gesture of trust. Don't disappoint me. Understood?”

She nodded, not trusting him.

He reached forward, bending at the knee, the swells of his shoulders and the inside of his neck exposed to her. She was too tired to try anything. She couldn't stop staring, either. His cracked scars stood out even more in the light of the fire. They looked painful, about as awful as the kiss of the Cook's blade. But his hands were large and strong, outdoors-man's hands, one of them seizing her ankles and steadying them, while the other sawed through the ropes. She stretched her legs out, wiggling them, leaning back against a rock.

“What d'you want with me?” she asked, when the silence became uncomfortable. Jacob stepped back, coiling the rope around his arm. He looked off to the side, then at her.

“I'm taking you back to the Veterans Center.”

She scoffed. “No shit. Then what?”

At his glare, she recanted. Crossing her legs, she added, “Got any food to spare? I'm pretty weak, and I'm bettin you're not gonna carry me all the way back, so...”

He smirked, his lip curling. “You'll get food when you've earned it.”

He turned his back to her, headed toward the fire. She straightened up at that. “What's that s'posed to mean? 'Earn it'? Ain't gonna sing and dance for you, like that fuckin stupid bear!”

“Stop cursing, for one,” he ordered over her shoulder. “Haven't you heard it's unladylike?”

A log cracked and hissed in the fire, shooting a flurry of sparks. _Unladylike._ She had heard that more times than she could count. She took it as a compliment (most of the time; sometimes it stung, but she would never admit that). No little girl ever dreamed about growing up with a bunch of glaring, pink lines dissecting her face, after all, or being raised in the woods by a loudmouthed, tough-love Granny, who believed the government was evil, that men were to be used solely for female pleasure and child-rearing, and that the only true path in life was self-reliance in nature.

Remembering that, she found her resolve again.

“Fuck yourself, Jacob.”

He put his hands behind his head, smiling.

“No food, then.”

Jess hissed a sigh, throwing her head back against the rock. Her neck was smooth, illuminated by warm orange light. Tufts of her thick, long hair trailed down her shoulders, pieces of grass stuck here and there.

Jacob, sitting back in his spot by the fire, plucked a piece of grass and twisted it between his fingers. A lost, thoughtful look on his face. Jess frowned.

“I want to know why you're out here,” she insisted. “Why'd you come all this way, just to get me? Why not send a huntin party?”

“You mean other than the fact you tried to kill me?” he laughed coarsely. His next answer surprised and unsettled her.

“Because I want you."

She drew back against the rock. No man had ever said those words to her...not even the boys she'd fooled around with as a dumb, wayward teenager. A runaway, with no purpose in life. Then her Gran set her straight, the cult invaded, and there had been no more time for boys. Her own inexperience in that arena never bothered her, except when she was around couples like Addie and Xander, or even the Ryes. The dreaded v-word fluttered around her head like a bat, before she mentally swatted it away, scrunching her brow.

“You all right?” he asked her. He twirled the piece of grass between two fingers, before throwing it in the flames.

As she looked upon him, the weird, warm heartbeat between her legs came back. Definitely not her uniform riding up. She understood what it was, just not why it was happening now. _Is it the way he looks at me? God. Why him?_

“Yeah.” She found it difficult to speak.

“Good,” he grunted. “I need you ready to move tomorrow.”

“Why do you want me?” she pressed. “Don't you freaks have enough people?”

 _Freaks?_ Jacob leaned forward. Those blue eyes, different from his brothers, stared straight into hers.

“None like you. You're a unique find. I'd be crazy, to let you go.”

She looked away, blushing. But that was the end of their conversation about her.

Jacob cleared his throat and said, “We should sleep.”

He started working on his bed, arranging piles of leaves. His calm, purposeful movements set her nerves on edge. He seemed awfully damned sure of himself. Sleep? Out here? With him? Knowing the fate that awaited her? Who did he think he was?

She said nothing more on the matter. Once Jacob had made his bed, he took out a blanket from his pack. She eyed the backpack with a prepper's shrewd appraisal. Good, sturdy bag, appropriate for his weight. He knew his survivor shit, all right. Gran would have approved.

Before he could get comfortable, Jess cleared her throat.

“I have to pee.”

He grunted and rolled over. First, he told himself he didn't care if she pissed her pants. She was gonna be uncomfortable, not him. But, thinking the better of it, sighing, he got up. Stalked over to her. Helped her to her feet, watching her wince as her stiff arms smarted from the movement. He led her to some weeds.

“ _Well_?” she drawled. “I ain't gonna sprout a spigot from my forehead. Need some help.”

 _Really._ He gave her an indignant look, suspecting deceit. Averting his eyes, he seized the spandex hem of her pants, about to jerk them down. She swung her elbow, hard. He saw it coming, but the fire had made him sluggish. He tried to duck, but it connected with the side of his face.

“Oof!” A low hiss of pain left his lips, and he released her.

Jess bolted for the woods, her heart pounding. Branches scratched the sides of her face. Her feet trod on sharp stones, her footfalls haphazardly placed. She didn't know where she was going, didn't give a shit, only knew that that she must get away. Her grandmother would have expected no less. Once, before the scars, Gran had told her men would chase her, but she never imagined like this!

She got maybe fifty feet, before he came crashing through the brush, tackling her from behind like a juggernaut. His strength, while not as brutal as the wolf's had been, was no less overwhelming. They wrestled and rolled in the tangle of weeds and grass. Aa tree root dug painfully into Jacob's back. Jess yelped when he jerked on her arms. With her hands bound, she was in no shape to fight, and soon he had her pinned on her back, legs flailing.

“Let GO!” she yipped.

She kicked him, her heel colliding with his kneecap, and he grunted, but she may as well have kicked a grizzly bear. He seized her leg with one arm, then the other, lifting her by the thighs which, had they been without clothing, would have been a scandalous position. No use, he had caught her. Jess's face was burning red as the tips of his ears. Weird thing was, she didn't want him to let go.

She looked up, felt his grip around her legs, and was drawn to him as she'd never been drawn to a male before. Embarrassed, her last-ditch effort failing, her mood went south. She sprang up like a cobra, and shoved her face in his, chest heaving, torn shirt sagging down, exposing much of her right breast. Jacob no longer averted his eyes, his appetite increasing by the second.

Jess noticed, but didn't notice, unused to the male gaze. Uncaring whether he hit her, stabbed her, whatever that look was about, she spat,

“You think I wanna be with YOU? Be your little cultist waif? Run around with my bow, like some fuckin trophy? Maybe curl up at the foot of your bed? Fuck you! You'll never change me. I'll never give in. I'd rather die! I'll kill you. I'll-”

He let go of her legs abruptly, and seized her by the shoulders, forcing her to be still. She ogled him with wide doe-eyes.

“Quit acting out,” he ordered. “I warned you, about denying your instincts.”

His hungry stare pierced her through, and she understood the purpose of the past three days, all at once. This wasn't about mind-control or revenge. Oh boy, no. There was only furious desire on his face. Jacob pushed her shoulders back down into the soil, her legs parted. Instead of swearing, she protested with a girlish whine. He answered her by pressing his mouth into hers, tasting her lips at last.

He smothered her, but she moaned and savored it. Savored how his beard rubbed her chin, how his nose pressed against hers. His thick lips parted with her smaller ones, only for them to draw hasty breaths, before wildly attacking each other again. Both of her legs had gone limp. She ignored the pain in her shoulders, her arms squashed under their combined weight. Each time Jacob tried to pull away, she raised her head and bit or sucked his mouth tenderly, drawing him in for more quick, savage, sloppy kisses.

He pressed other parts of him into her as well. Their hips met, the zippered crotch of his fatigues ground against the thin fabric of her prison uniform. This was a whole new animal, compared to the skinny, clumsy boys of her teenage years. He was coming at her like a heat-seeking missile. She'd seen enough mating in nature to know the components, just not the technique. She found her body responded on its own, grinding against him as her heels dug into earth, providing leverage.

Encouraged by her sighs, her clawing to pull him closer, his hand strayed under the end of her shirt. She clamped up, and he stopped. Jess lay there, panting, her pupils engorged, deep color in her beautiful face. Jacob had never wanted a woman so badly as he wanted Jess Black. He could guess what the fuss was about.

“You've never...” he started. She knew what he was implying, and it filled her with a bit of shame, followed swiftly by a wave of longing. She wasn't one to pity herself for long, after all. If an arrow needed sharpening, or her bow gears needed greased, no sense in putting it off.

She huffed, “Does it really matter?”

The heavy hand on her abdomen left, and she was sore with want. He placed it on her jaw instead, caressing gently, moving up to the pink scar on her right cheek. She winced, unused to human touch there, but let him do it.

“As long it doesn't matter to you,” he said. He traced the long, deep scar with his thumb. Evidence of her fortitude, her unending will to survive.

His face was transfixed on hers, shocking her a little. She inhaled sharply. Exhaled. Did she really want THIS man, who had spent the last few days hunting her down, to be her first?

Well, after all, he had worked so tirelessly to find her. She decided to reward him.

“Keep going, Jacob.”

With that permission, he removed his knife from his side. She tensed out of instinct, but he wrapped his arms around her, her face resting against his neck. He smelled like the woods, like fire, with only a trace of human musk, but it awoke something primal in her: the urge to let this dominant male do as he pleased.

Jacob skillfully sliced through the rope without so much as looking. Her arms now freed, she wrapped them around his bulky shoulders. He sat back, pulling her into his lap. His hand went to her face, tracing the scar, leaving it for her lips. The calloused pad dragged smoothly across her lower one. She kissed it tenderly, tasting him, wanting more.

He lowered his hand, and embraced her tighter. Her fingers, making up for lost time, explored more of his body, dancing over the patches of scars on his biceps, his chest, his neck. He eased her back to the soft ground, leaves crunching, and her hand reached up, stroking the mottled, pink burns on his face.

He made a low sound of protest, and she stopped.

There was no point in such timidness. Not with what he had in mind. Sighing, he leaned into her. Her heart sped up, his skin hot under her fingertips. She had the Wolf of the Whitetails in her grasp. Whether he was as dangerous as his Judges, she didn't know.

His eyes moved on their own volition. Her torn shirt had come down farther, freeing the rounded swell of her right breast. The nipple poked up in the air, tempting him, stoking something deep inside. His need of her became too urgent, too painful. He seized her shirt in both hands. Gripping the split part, he tore it in half with one go. It was dark, and he couldn't appreciate the view of her as well as he wanted to, but his hands found her breasts as soon as the cloth was gone.

Jess whimpered gratefully, and eased into his touch, feeling his hands grope her, pushing her tits around. She grew slick between her legs, wishing she could see him better. This darkness simply wouldn't do.

“Let's go,” he said.

“Where?"

“Back to the fire."

He helped her up, leading her to camp. The fire burned a circle of light, black waters of the creek sparkling on the other side of the bank. He took her by the hand and led her closer to the flames. Stood back, taking in the sight of her: bare-chested, shy, but not humiliated, hands soft at her sides. In the dark, she had been beautiful. Now, in the fiery light, she was a goddess of flesh and blood. He had chosen his mate well.

As his eyes appraised her, she pursed her lips in a pout. Unfair, that she should be so naked, and he with his pants and boots still on! But that didn't last long. He unlaced them, removing them one by one. Then he undid the clasp to his belt, sliding down his pants and underwear, before stepping out of them. She avoided looking at first, but not out of fear. It was a natural reaction, ingrained by a society she'd tried to reject.

Slowly, by the warm light of the fire, she let her eyes dip down, past his statuesque abdominals, the pronounced v's of his hips, to the snarl of coarse pubic hair and beyond. She was a daughter of nature, and wasn't ashamed by what she saw, only delighted it was directed at her. He was fully erect, his cock thick. Sprung. Insistent, the way she'd seen with deer and buffalo and all sorts of animals when the rut had begun. But, attached to a man, she felt lust stab her below the navel like it never had before, sharp and fast. Her nipples hardened to tight little buds.

 _Will it fit?_ she wondered, with a private thrill. _Don't be stupid. Of course it will._

“Come,” he said, holding out his hand. She grasped it, and he led her to his blanket.

He took his time, both for his own pleasure and hers. Pulling her to his side, he brought his mouth to hers, kissing her again. He had wonderful lips, soft and strong. Her same eagerness from before resurged; she was hyperaware of their bodies touching now, without any clothes, his cock dangerously close to her cleft. His lips left hers, exploring down her neck, her collar bone, up the tiny mountain of her breast, then grazed the nipple. She gasped at the sudden, intense sensation. Eyes shining with desire, he licked it once, before taking into his mouth, suckling her, closing his eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned softly. He pressed his face into her chest. Her hands stroked his shoulders, the bristled hairs on the back of his smooth, shaved head.

He switched breasts, greedily enjoying its weight in his hand, the way he lengthened out her nipple with his tongue. These would suit his future children, just fine. His other hand cruised between her legs. She was unshaven, _au-naturale_ , the way he preferred. His fingers pet her downy, black pubic hair, before dipping further, beneath her mound. He found her clit and stroked it. She mewled with want, wriggling at his touch. He pulled his head back, watching her ecstatic facial expressions, her little o's of surprise. He played with the hood, pulling it taut and rubbing, before returning to her bud with neat, small circles.

Jess hitched and sighed against him, soaking his fingers. Gradually, he left her clit and slipped an exploratory index finger inside her. She took a deep breath, unused to it.

She was tight, clamping down on him immediately. Warm. Unspoiled, slick as anything. He tried a second digit, finding it almost impossible. She took more of his fingers with a gasp, bucking her hips to meet him. He smiled and kissed her lips, while his hand stroked her inside, coaxing that soft, thick pad that was her g-spot. An urge, like a full bladder, struck her, but far more pleasant. She reached for his cock, felt wetness at the tip as the wide head brushed her palm.

“Not yet,” he told her. “Wait.”

Just then, she'd do just about anything he said. She withdrew her hand from his dick, and he twitched in her absence.

He worked on her again, switching to one finger, every so often removing it to rub her clit, and her thighs pressed in on his wrist every time. She was practically begging him to fuck her. When he'd massaged her passage for a long while, and she couldn't possibly get any wetter, he was satisfied. He positioned himself between her legs, stroking her firm outer thighs, before lowering his face to kiss her, differently that time. He pressed his mouth into hers with more force, and stayed there. She felt as if she could melt into him, his weight compressing her to the ground.

When he finally drew away, she gasped, and tried to pull him back. She was ready. Willing. She had more than opened herself. He was done waiting. One hand slid under her lower back, tilting her up. She did the rest, using her legs to angle her pelvis against his. The fat head of his cock bumped against her vulva, and she shuddered all over. _That's new_. He aligned it with her entrance, using his arms to position himself, and the pressure inside her mounted. _That's also new. Sweet Jesus..._

“Ready to be my mate?” he purred. The reverb through his lungs wasn't altogether different from the direwolf's.

She hesitated, her emotions swirling like a cyclone.

“Yes.”

He pushed inside with one firm, fluid motion. Got as far as the head, before she felt something tight at her entrance give way. There was no pain, and she was mildly surprised. The initiation over, the rest of his cock tunneled in, and she forgot about all else. He didn't groan or thrust or shake, only introduced her to his full length, for moment. He knew this was all new territory for his mate. He didn't want to displease her.

She shuddered around his girth, her walls hugging his cock so tight the air left his lungs. He sawed in and out a few times, slow. They breathed in tandem with his movements. When she began to squirm, tried to buck her hips again, he sped up. The pressure of his cock was something altogether foreign, yet somehow belonged there, inside her, filling her with a sweet, savage ache for more.

His mate arched her back and moaned at her newfound companion, fingernails scraping the dirt. Something told her to wrap her legs around him, and she did while his hips rose and fell.

“Look at you,” he said, amused. “So eager. I want you to present yourself to me.”

Puzzled, she felt him withdraw, the sudden emptiness alarming. He had her flip over, on her hands and knees like a dog. Or a wolf. She naturally knew what to do, sinking her upper body down, her full tits hanging, nipples jutting forward. She curved her spine, raising her ass and thighs in the air with a smirk on her face. The position felt dirtier, more bestial. Thanks to him, in future partners, she would prefer it that way.

Jacob rested a hand on her ass. It was even better close up than when he'd seen it in the water. The way her waist tapered after all that curvature...

“Good bitch,” he breathed. “Hold still for your alpha.”

“Fuck,” she sighed in response, under her breath, her face pressed into the dirt. She did feel like an animal: a horny, stupid, hungry creature. Her hands clenched into fists.

He grabbed her ass on both sides, pulling it closer. He placed one hand on her buttock, the other seized his cock. He mounted her with ease, guiding it in without a hitch. He started with a few slow, careful thrusts. Jess bit her lip and shut her eyes, groaning. She bent her spine even more, trying to tunnel him down. All this slow, gentle stuff was getting old fast, though.

“Harder,” she begged.

She didn't need to ask him twice. His hips snapped over and over as he raw-fucked her. She made all sorts of sounds under his power: whimpers, hisses. Moans. Her tits swung like two soft pendulums, her hair splayed across her back. He leaned forward, stepping almost over her, and she spread her knees more, her hips as high as they would go. He drilled away, and more noises of approval came from her throat.

With an impassioned growl, he slammed into her, and she yipped her surprise. He dropped, slick chest bearing down on her shoulders. His was long enough, and she was short enough, that he could do so without withdrawing, and he crushed her into the ground, arms on either side of her. His dick continued pounding. Never had she been so grateful her arrow had missed!

“I'll fill you soon,” he promised, digging his face into her neck. She gnashed her teeth. He bit the back of her neck, skin clamped in his teeth. It shot numbing jolts down her spine, and with a chattering mewl she came suddenly and sharply, without warning. Her hairs stood up. Her upraised cunt dripped onto the dirt.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Please.”

“Please what?” He slowed his thrusting, using small, torturous movements that made her want to beg for it. Crave it, like nothing else.

Jess murmured a phrase that would have made her Gran see red: “Fill me. Fuck me. Make me yours."

He rumbled his response, a low grunt of approval, and rose to his full height once more. He seized handfuls of her hips and thrust up and in, toward her organs. Jess screamed silently in sudden bliss. Her vaginal walls contracted, and her second orgasm hit, feeling like she was peeing and cumming at the same time, like there was a hot water balloon bursting in her belly. 

The sound she made was almost inhuman. At that, her insemination imminent, Jacob thrust a few more times. The v's of his hips slammed her buttocks, and he went off, shooting his seed deep within her. For a moment he lingered, resting, his mate languishing beneath him, spent. Nothing but crickets and the calm gloom of the forest to witness them.

Until the Judges returned, sniffing at the fire before trotting over to them.

Jacob withdrew, and fell on the blanket next to her. She reached out as one of the wolves approached her--the very same that she had stayed her hand from shooting. Its gilded eyes looked to Jacob, who nodded, and then it lowered its great head. She ran her fingers through red and white fur, mesmerized. 

Eventually Jacob wrapped her in his arms. The fire burned, not quite as intensely, but it would keep them warm in its orange glow the rest of the night. They nodded off to sleep soon after, without saying another word, the Judges sleeping close by. They'd had a long couple of days, after all.

In the gray light of dawn, when she awoke, he was still asleep. She rose and pulled her clothes on swiftly, sneaking to the edge of camp. The wolves were gone. She looked back once, a strange hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. But her Gran had taught her well, and her survival instincts told her to run deeper into the wood. So run she did.

When she paused once to sip from a stream, that was when he found her, his sniper rifle in hand. Jess froze, bent over the water. She had no words. What was there to say?

He lowered his rifle. Would not raise it again. She had spared his Judge's life, and he would spare his mate her freedom. He didn't have the gall to keep a wonder like her caged, anyway.

Jess wasn't the sort of lady for long goodbyes. But she ran up to him. Stroked the scars on his face once, an unspoken bond between them making them both smile. Then she was off again, with nothing but a rustle of branches to announce her departure.

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break from my Outsider series for a few days. Had a moment of inspiration and had to get this written. It's an unusual pairing, but I went for it anyway. Hope you enjoyed! -Graves


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